Gratitude with an Attitude (Shemot 5774)

The Torah portion this week has many memorable features - a Pharaoh who knew not Joseph enslaving the ancient Israelites; the birth, rescue, and development of Moses; the burning bush to name just three. But my memory about this portion is rooted in the fact this was my Bar Mitzvah Torah reading more than 44 years ago. Most of my memories from that day are sweet (like my grandmothers’ and aunts’ effusive pride and lemon squares) or nourishing (like my sister’s and parents’ encouragement). But one memory is difficult, still I am grateful for it.  

Unlike thousands of bar mitzvah or bat mitzvah students before me and after me, I did not publicly thank my parents during the service. My ‘bar mitzvah speech’ focused on my interpretation of the Torah text, but did not thank my parents for all they had done to bring me to that amazing moment. 

Looking back on that day, I remain baffled and unable to explain why. I should have thought of it on my own; even though my parents and teachers never mentioned it. Was I trying to seem cool? Or was I too embarrassed to say ‘thank you’? Did I think it was unrelated to the words of Torah I was trying to explain? Looking back, it was so uncool and so embarrassing not to say ‘thank you.’ Ironically, turning back to parshat Shemot this week the theme of gratitude jumps out at me. 

The Jewish value of gratitude is expressed by the Hebrew term, “hakarat hatov” (lit. recognizing or calling out the good [that someone has done for us]). Gratitude depends on not only appreciating what others do for us, but also actively remembering what others have done for our benefit. 

This week’s portion begins with a bald denial of appreciation, “there arose a new Pharaoh who knew not Joseph.” (Exodus 1:8) The commentators wonder how even a new sovereign over Egypt could be ignorant of all that Joseph did to protect and sustain that country from famine. Rashi (12th century) suggests the new Pharaoh knew of Joseph -- how could he not!?! -- still he acted as if he was unaware of what Joseph had done for Egypt. In other words, the new Pharaoh was not ignorant, he was an ingrate.

Because the Jewish value of appreciation is rooted in the Hebrew word for good, there is another verse pointing to gratitude this week. When Moses is born his mother sees that he is “ki tov - good!” (Ex. 2:2) Presumably, all parents feel this when seeing their newborn; still, it is a rare declaration in Torah. The motherly declaration here after giving birth echoes to the divine declaration after giving “birth” to the world in the story of creation when the term “tov” is used frequently to describe each aspect of creation. 

For many, the parent:child relationship is at the center of gratitude. The anonymous 13th century author of Sefer HaChinuch (Book of Education) idealizes “one who acknowledges and treats with lovingkindness the parent who treated him/her with ‘goodness.’” Chinuch continues one “should not be a scoundrel, an ingrate, who turns a cold shoulder . . . [Rather, it] is for a person to realize that his/her father and mother are the cause of his/her being in the world; hence proper for him/her to give [parents] honor and every benefit.” (Sefer HaChinuch 33:1). The creative, sustaining, and encouraging foundations of parenthood are the basis of “goodness” and appreciation that flows from it. 

If all of humanity acted this way naturally, then there would be no need for Torah and rabbinic encouragement for gratitude. The fact is, however, as demonstrated by my own behavior 44 years ago, human nature declines opportunity for gratitude. If it is true with gratitude for our parents, how much more so must it be true for those who are more removed from us. Watch what happens when you hold the door open for other in front of a store. In my experience the first person through the door often says, “thank you” because she has seen you open the door. But those who follow who encounter only an already open door, not one being pulled open by you, seem to take it for granted and neglect to even nod or say “thanks,” 

As demonstrated by the example of a new Pharaoh gratitude depends on not only appreciating what others do for us, but also actively remembering what others have done for our benefit. To remain active appreciators we have to exercise both a mindset of appreciation and memory.

Many times over the years my parents and I have chuckled over my failure to demonstrate appreciation on my bar mitzvah. While I cannot go back to that moment and fix it, I can remind myself -- and each of us -- just how powerful it is to recognize and remember anything and anyone who has earned our appreciation and gratitude. 

May this Shabbat and the coming winter break from routines of daily life give each of us more opportunities to tell others “I am grateful for . . .”

Racing with Purpose (Vayechi 5774)

As we race toward winter break, this is a good moment to reflect on how we sometimes race ahead of ourselves or race ahead without purpose.

Credit Diario De Navana via Huffington Post

In the Torah reading cycle this week we also are racing toward the end of the book of Bereisheet, which we conclude by reading Vayechi. In it, there is an interesting expression that Jacob uses to describe his oldest son, Reuven, “pachaz ka-mayim -- unstable as water.” (Genesis 49:4) Rashi (11th century) explains this means a kind of recklessness like waters that are rushing without a sense of direction.

More Than Enough (Vayigash 5774)

Having just finished Chanukah the festival that celebrates the miracle of purposeful light -- how we see the world and use our eyes comes to mind. This season also encourages our eyes to grow much bigger than our stomachs. From the food excess of Thanksgiving; to the jelly-donut and latke excess of Chanukah; to the material and shopping excess of Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and the sales of the season. 

This week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, offers a perspective on our human impulse to seek excess. The patriarch Jacob is told that his favored son Joseph is still alive 22 years after Joseph’s brothers told their father Jacob that Joseph was killed by wild beasts. The brothers continue describing for Jacob that Joseph is now the viceroy of Egypt. Jacob seems to interrupt their revelations exclaiming, in some translations, “It is enough [that] Joseph my son is yet alive.” (Genesis 45:28; see, for example, JPS Translation in “The Soncino Chumash (1983)) 

It is as if Jacob is saying, “This is enough; I don’t need anything more!” Or “It is enough to know that Joseph is alive, I don’t need anything more!” Jacob’s exclamation prompts us to ask when are our eyes ever filled with enough light that we don’t need any more? Or when are our stomachs so full that we don’t turn our eyes to wanting more? 

At this season of Chanukah, which rehearses the story of Jewish culture contending with Hellenic culture, a famous story about Alexander the Great and the Acquisitive Eye comes to mind. The Talmud and Jewish tradition has its own version of the story. 

In the Talmud’s version Alexander is traveling home after conquering the world. Here is my elaboration on that story: Alexander the Great comes to a stream that flows directly from the Garden of Eden. He follows the stream to its source and seeks entry to the Garden. Alexander is denied with a statement that only the righteous can enter. He protests that a king of his stature should not be both rejected and turned away empty-handed. So a little round object is given to him. He puts it in his sack and carries it home. Once home he seeks to determine the worth of the round object. (Based on Tamid 32b)

He puts the round object on one side of a scale and heaps gold and silver on the other side. But this little round object outweighs however much gold and silver Alexander puts on the other side of the scale. An astonished Alexander seeks guidance from the rabbis. They explain that the object is an eyeball, which can never be fully satisfied. 

Then the rabbis suggest Alexander cover the eyeball with a handful of dust. Alexander covers the eyeball with dust and this tips the scale. Unable to see the eyeball weighs nothing. The rabbis explain, “The human eye is never satisfied with what it sees. No matter how much gold and silver you put in front of it, the eye will always want more.” In other words, the greedy ambition of an eye seeks more than we need; our greedy eyes get us into trouble. [Link to Jewish Encyclopedia Version of Alexander and the Acquisitive Eye]

At this season of big eyes and much excess, let the Alexander remind us of our capacity, on occasion, to close our eyes and control our desires. If we have the strength to close our eyes to greedy pursuits may we also have the wisdom to open our eyes to recognize and express gratitude for all the blessings that fill our lives. May we grow to exclaim, as Jacob does, “this is enough; I don’t need anything more.”

Joseph’s Journey From Self-Centered to Other-Centered (Vayeshev 5774)

In this week’s parsha Joseph endures quite a journey.  After being elevated by his father Joseph imagines (literally dreams) that his siblings will bow to him and his parents will orbit him.  Talk about self-centered.  His brothers cannot stand his arrogance so they throw him into a pit and sell him into slavery.  

When his brothers throw Joseph into the pit Torah tells us that it was “empty” and “without water.” (Genesis 37:24) But that seems redundant. An empty pit would, of course, have no water in it.  The ancient Rabbi Achah reads the redundancy to mean that the pit was so empty there was no Torah (often identified with nourishing waters) in it.  (See Genesis Rabbah 84:16.).  Yet if Joseph was in the pit, then it was not truly empty.  Following Rabbi Achah, perhaps Torah is suggesting that at this stage in his journey it was Joseph himself who was empty.  He was so self-centered that he was lacking in Torah.  

From the pit Joseph is sold into slavery and winds up in Pharaoh’s prison.  At that lonely point in Joseph’s journey, Torah tells us “Va-yahee Adonai et Yosef -- God was with Joseph.”  (Genesis 39:21)  Torah continues “va’yeet chesed,” which is usually translated as 'God showed Joseph kindness.'  But a more literal translation might be instructive here, it is that God “inclined Joseph toward kindness.”  

Inclined toward kindness in prison Joseph treats his fellow prisoners with dignity, respect, and honesty.  That focus on others grows through Joseph until ultimately he develops the capacity to rescue his family from famine and to nourish the entire nation of Egypt. When we are, like Joseph must have been, feeling alone and afraid, the presence of others -- even just a single person -- has the power to incline us toward kindness directed at others.

Joseph’s journey moves from being self-centered to being other-centered. This is amplified by his dream interpretations.  At first Joseph renders only his own dreams.  Later he grows to render the dreams of others.  He is at the center of his early dream interpretations but others are at the center of his later ones.  

Rav Huna teaches that the phrase God was with Joseph means that Joseph was constantly conscious of something beyond himself. In other words, it does not mean that God was uniquely present with Joseph, rather that Joseph was uniquely aware of the world beyond himself.  It means Joseph has lost his self-centered perspective.  Joseph cultivated his capacity to look beyond himself, to care for others.  

Rav Huna also suggested that Joseph was constantly whispering God’s name to himself.  In that sense, we are reminded that whatever we are muttering about -- or whispering to ourselves -- when serving others shapes our experience of that service.  When the presence of others inclines us toward others we can visit those who are sick or clothe and shelter those who are vulnerable or feed those who are hungry without any muttering or resentment.  When we are alone we may be afraid to do any of that.  But when we are with others, lifting and encouraging them as they do the same for us, then we are inclined toward kindness through a consciousness of others beyond ourselves.  

May each of us have many opportunities to be with others and incline them and ourselves toward kindness. 

The Scorpion & The Tortoise: Fixed and Growth Mindset in the Reunion of Esau and Jacob (Vayishlach 5774)

The parsha this week begins with Jacob and Esau preparing for a reunion after more than two decades of alienation from each other. When they last saw each other, Esau promised to exact revenge against his brother Jacob for stealing their father's blessing. Jacob is afraid that Esau has not changed; that Esau has remain fixed in his attitude toward Jacob. Torah tells us "Jacob was really frightened and he was distressed." (Genesis 32:8). Why both emotions? Wasn't it enough to be afraid!?! What does the text add that Jacob was distressed?


One insight from the ancient rabbis is that Jacob's feelings are doubled because Jacob was afraid for himself - that he and his family might be harmed - and Jacob was distressed for Esau -- that in defending himself from Esau, Jacob might bring harm to Esau and his family. (Bereisheet Rabbah 76:2)

Connecting this ancient insight to Jacob’s fear that Esau has remained fixed in his attitude toward Jacob, I imagine that Jacob’s feelings are doubled because Jacob feared both he himself and Esau had too fixed a mindset to have changed. In other words, Jacob was afraid for himself that he could not outgrow the youthful deceptions he used to steal Esau’s blessing from their father and Jacob was stressed for Esau that he could not outgrow his youthful ambition for revenge.

As the JCHS Professional Community learned when studying together Dr. Carol Dweck’s seminal book, "Mindset," those with a fixed mindset believe their basic qualities are fixed. By contrast those with a growth mindset believe their most basic qualities or abilities can be developed and grown through purposeful, hard work.  

One genius of Judaism is its commitment to a growth mindset. As expressed by Abraham Joshua Heschel, “A [person] is a being in flux.” While a “stone is characterized by its finality, [a person’s] outstanding quality is in its being a surprise.” For Judaism, as expressed by Heschel, “the being of a person is never completed, [never] final.” (Heschel, “Who Is Man?” (1965), p. 41.)

That brings me to the fable of the scorpion and the tortoise. One day, a scorpion who wanted to cross a pond. (For purposes of the fable ignore the fact thatsome scorpions can survive under water for as long as two days.) Near the edge of the pond the scorpion found a tortoise and asked if he would give him a lift across. The tortoise exclaimed, “Are you joking? You’ll sting me while I’m swimming and I’ll drown!”

“My dear tortoise,” laughed the scorpion, “If I were to sting you, you would drown and I’d go down with you! Now where is the logic in that?” “You’ve got a point there,” reasoned the tortoise. “Hop on.” The scorpion climbed aboard and the tortoise set off into the water. Halfway across the pond, the scorpion carefully aimed his powerful stinger and stung the tortoise everything he had. As they both sank to the bottom the tortoise asked, “You said there is no logic in you stinging me. So why did you do it?” “It has nothing to do with logic,” the drowning scorpion replied, “it’s just my nature!” The scorpion had a fixed mindset and used it excuse his behavior.  

The tradition urges us to see the world differently. The Torah teaches we can transcend our natures; we have choices. Even if we are inclined at times toward or have a predisposition in favor of unhealthy or hurt-ful behaviors, those behaviors are our choice. We choose whether to pursue life and good instead of death and evil. (Deuteronomy 30:15-20) My colleague David Meyer has written, “it is the ability to grow, to choose our ways in life is what makes us human -- our ability to transcend both biology and environment, and to intentionally change our lives towards a higher moral vision.” 

As for Jacob and Esau -- they prove the scorpion wrong; they do not remain fixed; they change. At the moment of their tense reunion “Esau ran to meet him. He hugged [Jacob] and throwing himself on his shoulders, kissed him. They [both] wept.” (Genesis 33:4) They both changed. They inspire us to know we can grow and change. We can become more full and complete versions of the selves we choose to be. We are not like the fabled scorpion whose mindset is fixed. Unlike the scorpion we can cross the pond; we can transform our nature to become better ourselves. 

Check out the story variants for the Scorpion and the Tortoise

Veterans Day: Call for the Common Good

A view of Tacloban City in the Philippines Photo: Reuters

As our national community commemorates Veterans Day, we are hearing stories about devastating destruction and death in the Philippines. Veterans Day falls on November 11 because that date in 1918 marked the temporary armistice and end of hostilities and devastation during World War I. Veterans Day celebrates American military veterans not only for their patriotic love of country but also for their willingness to serve the common good.  

The tragedy in the Philippines calls on all citizens of the world to serve the common good - of rescue, restoration, and healing.   

As you may know, there is a special connection between the Philippines and the State of Israel. My colleague, Rabbi Ari Luebitz, referred to it earlier today with his Oakland Hebrew Day School community reminding them that "Filipinos have become beloved and valued members of Israeli households, known throughout [Israel] for their compassion and humanity, and their capacity to give and to care well above and beyond the call of duty." In an earlier generation, the Filipinos sheltered 1,000 European Jews fleeing the Nazis during World War II.   

In partnership with the Jewish Federations of North America and the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC), the San Francisco based Jewish Community Federation has established relief fund for direct support in the city of Tacloban and other areas that have been hardest hit. One hundred percent of all funds collected there will go directly to Federation partners on the ground in the Philippines, including JDC, for emergency response and long-term recovery. Click here to donate now.

   

Israel itself has dispatched relief teams to the Philippines. One of the leading organizations involved is IsraAID. You can learn more about IsraAID here and might consider contributing to their efforts. 

May our prayers and deeds bring light to a place so broken now by darkness and death.  May the strength of our community be shared for the common good.   

Spiritual Homing: Dorothy of Kansas and Jacob of Be'er Sheva (Vayetzei 5774)

Dorothy Costume Dress Sells for $480,000

When I was little this was the season for airing The Wizard of Oz on broadcast television (November or December in the late 1950s, early 1960s).  Dorothy's journey along the spiral-shaped yellow brick road both inspired my imagination and left me afraid of flying monkeys and apple-throwing trees for years to come. 

Spiritual journeys and life journeys are complicated like that -- both liberating and scary, celebrating the unique features of someplace new and longing for familiar comfort of "there's no place like home."  The archetype spiritual journey transforms our perspective even when do not change our physical location.  Or in Henry Miller's words, 'one's destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things." ("Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch, p. 26) 

This may be even more the case when the spiritual journey returns us precisely to the physical location from which we began. (Think Dorothy and the Kansas farmhouse.) This sentiment is amplified by T.S. Eliot, "the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."  (Little Gidding in "Four Quartets")  This also resonates with a reading of Jacob's journey in this week's Torah portion, Vayetzei (lit. "he went out") -- a journey guided by dreams and divine blessing.

After Jacob leaves the sheltered protection of his father’s house, Jacob finds himself on a physical and spiritual journey. Until this moment he has not encountered many obstacles in his life.  His journey begins in fear as he flees his brother's anger over Jacob's deception in obtaining their father's blessing. Nearly paralyzed by fear, however, Jacob encounters the divine promise of blessings and protection throughout his journey and beyond.  

But rather than receive this divine promise of blessing and protection with gratitude or relief Jacob asks for more. He asks “give me bread to eat and clothes to wear.” (Genesis 28:20)  It is a puzzling request.  Doesn't he believe that divine protection includes food and clothing?!?  And why does Jacob need to specify how food and clothing will be used? 

What other uses are there for food and clothing if not for nourishment and protection?  In an all-too material world there are plenty of other uses. Consider that at a recent auction pieces of royal wedding cakes sold for princely sums: Prince William and Kate Middleton's cake sold for $7,500 while Prince Charles and Princess Diana's cake sold for $1,375.  And the now faded blue gingham dress worn by Dorothy in the "Wizard of Oz" fetched $480,000.

Perhaps, Jacob fears his journey will take him toward places where materialism is celebrated and authenticity is depreciated. As my colleague Rabbi Naftali Reich writes, Jacob "prayed that in his encounter with materialism he should never lose sight of the true purpose of the material world. Bread is for eating, and clothes are for wearing. They are not to be valued for themselves and accumulated and hoarded until they become the very purpose of life. He prayed that he would return to his father’s house 'at peace' with himself, protected physically but also complete spiritually."  

For Jacob leaving Be'er Sheva, as for Dorothy "leaving" Kansas, this is a type of spiritual "homing" -- returning home after traveling far away.  Jacob, like Dorothy, seeks the strength to stay true to his home-values -- appreciating food for its capacity to nourish and clothing for its capacity to protect and keep warm.  He is asking for the wisdom to avoid distorting the value of material items.  

Another aspect of spiritual homing is that Jacob knows the divine promise of blessing is complete for himself, but is asking more for others.  When Jacob asks for food to eat and clothes to wear, he is not asking for himself but rather for those who are vulnerable and in need.  Perhaps, like Dorothy, Jacob's spiritual journey cannot be completed unless he works to help others fulfill their needs along the way.

May we each have enough wisdom and strength on our spiritual journeys to act in integrity with our values, to help others fulfill their needs, and to find our way safely home.

Sibling Revelry: Celebrating Siblings 50/50 (Toledot 5774)

"Sibling Revelry" 1969

My dad was determined to treat my sister and me equally. Knowing how much my dad loved my sister, ironically one of the ways I felt special was seeing him split things with us 50/50. Like the day in college when a package arrived from my dad. It one-half of a 2-pound box of chocolates sawed precisely down-the-middle Yup, he sent my sister the other half. Or the books he would buy two copies -- one for me and one for my sister. 

Although my sister and I are not twins, we were blessed to be loved so evenly and equally. That dramatically contrasts with the twins, Esau and Jacob, born in this week's Torah portion, Toledot. Whatever rivalry was sparked between them in the womb was inflamed by their father, Isaac. The arc of their relationship moves from "the children clashed inside [the womb] in Genesis 25:22 to an elderly Isaac saying to his adult son Esau, "Behold, I have made [Jacob] master over you" in Genesis 27:37. It was classical sibling rivalry.

My sister and I enjoyed sibling "revelry" -- a parent-inspired celebration of sibling relations that endures today. Contrasting sibling rivalry with sibling revelry, I turned this week to one of those same books my dad bought for both my sister and me, a book of Jewish folktales. I was looking for a story I remembered about two brothers whose act of sibling devotion and kindness was so powerful it literally became identified with the location of Jerusalem.

Truth is when opening the book I discovered the story I sought tagged by this picture as a bookmark: my dad, of blessed memory, standing right between my sister and me when I am 12 years old. "Mimekor Yisrael" (bin Gorion, ed.) vol I, p. 491

Here is my adapted version of the story involving two brothers – farmers – who live on either side of a great hill. One of the brothers is married with many children – Simcha. The other lives alone – Lev. Every year at harvest season each of them reaps his side of the hill. Both brothers were blessed with plenty until one year there is drought and the crops come in quite thin. Each reaps much less than the years before.

Toward the end of that long, difficult drought-year harvest, Simcha was laying awake at night thinking, “I have a family to help with fill out the harvest. But my brother, Lev, is all alone. He can't possible harvest enough on his own to make a living let alone feed himself for the year. I will sneak at night taking some of my crops over to his side of the hill. Then Lev will have enough." Under the cloak of a dark night, Simcha loaded up his wheelbarrow with a few bales of wheat, tiptoed over the hill, and left them on Lev's side of the hill..

Later that same night Lev also was lying awake thinking, "I have plenty to eat. But my brother has a such big family to feed. I’m sure Simcha could use a little extra. I will sneak some of my crop to his side of the hill." Lev loaded up his wheelbarrow in the dark, carried it over the hill and left many bales on his brother's side of the hill. 

The next morning, Simcha and Lev each were surprised to see that their bales of wheat were exactly the same size as before. “It’s a miracle!” each one thought, “Now I have even more to share with my brother tonight.” And so it went until the end of the harvest, night after night, the brothers crept out of bed and loaded up their wheelbarrows, just narrowly missing each other in the darkness.

Until one night, by coincidence, they met at the top of the hill. The two brothers looked at each other and understood immediately what had been happening. They embraced each other and the special bond of siblings who care for each other. 

Usually the story continues with something like, "Tradition says God was watching these brothers, saw their devotion to each other, their ability to feel and serve the needs of another. And God said that spot where the brothers embraced will be Jerusalem.” 

But there is no biblical, rabbinic, or ancient source for this story. Indeed, biblical, rabbinic, and ancient sources point to other reasons for placement of Jerusalem. (Here's the link to Daniel Stuhlman's blog post about seeking the Jewish origins for this story.)

Sometimes stories have power because they are true. Other times stories have power because they contain important truths. The truth of this story is not in whether Jerusalem was built on this spot or not. The truth of this story is that brothers and sisters and close friends who need each other, deserve a special brand of loyalty and generosity. We should both celebrate and work toward that type of sibling revelry.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can, I Think I Can: My Parents Brainwashed Me Too (Chayei Sarah 5774)

Parents provide powerful legacies for their children. Ethan Metzger shows that with his entry in the Bronx Poetry Slam 2013.  Ethan is a senior at SAR - a Jewish high school in Riverdale, New York.  You have got to watch Ethan deliver his slam poem:  Link to YouTube of Ethan Metzger

As you watch Ethan, listen for these words of his:  "My parents did brainwash me . . . And my mom she incessantly told me as a child again and again and again to just do the best you can and that idea is now so ingrained in my mind that I don’t define success as whether I got an A or won the game but whether I gave it my all . . . You can call it brainwashing if you want. That’s fine. I call it teaching.”  

And how do we measure success?  What is Ethan's legacy?  He did not advance to the second round of the Poetry Slam but this video of him has gone viral (as of today it has been viewed on YouTube more than 215,000 times!)  Talk about defining success in different terms!

So I ask, "How did your parents brainwash you?"  The power of what we teach to our children -- or what we learn from our parents -- is a fundamental lesson of this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, where Torah describes two different types of inheritances one generation can leave for the next.

The first type is material or financial.  We see this when Abraham's servant tells Rebecca about her future husband's (Isaac's) financial security:  “He [Abraham] has given him [Isaac] all that he owns." (Genesis 24:36)  The second type of inheritance is values-based or emotional/spiritual.  We see this when the text describes Abraham's approaching death: "Abraham willed all that he owned to Isaac." (Genesis 25:5)

Because Abraham already gave Isaac everything he owned in 24:36, Rashi quotes Rabbi Nehemiah who interprets 25:5 to mean Abraham is sharing his blessing with Isaac. (Rashi on Genesis 25:5). That seems like a spiritual legacy instead of a material one. Encouraging us to think about these two kinds of inheritance, this week’s Torah portion prompts us to ask: What are we willing to give to the next generation?  It is not enough, if we follow Abraham’s practice, to transmit a material legacy.  We also have the responsibility to transmit a legacy of values, a legacy of the spirit.  

The Torah portion also raises the issue of how hard are we willing to work to transmit that legacy of values.  Another feature of this week’s Torah portion is the attention it lavishes on Abraham’s efforts to acquire property in the Land of Israel in which to bury Sarah. This effort by Abraham seems, in some ways, unnecessary because there already has been a divine promise to give the land to Abraham and Sarah and their descendants.  With that promise in his pocket, so to speak, why does Abraham need to negotiate and pay a price.  It seems to me Torah is teaching here that to accomplish the most meaningful and fulfilling things in in life we need to invest of ourselves.  Often we invest the most of ourselves when providing a legacy for our children.    

About ten years ago I was visiting an absorption center in Beit She’an, Israel. There had been a sharp economic downturn in Argentina and a rise in anti-semitism there that led to an increase in aliyah (emigration to Israel) from Buenos Aires.  

We were in the tiny apartment of Ariel, Marianna, and Alejandro.  Ariel and Marianna were a young couple who had made aliyah to Israel from Buenos Aires just 5 weeks before I met them.  Ariel was a plumber and computer programmer. Marianna was an English teacher.  Alejo was their 2 year old son.  

Marianna and Ariel hosted three of us visiting from Cleveland offering plates full of cookies and cups of cold soda.  Alejo wanted to join in so he offered us all of his toys.  Actually he brought out and placed on the table or in our laps seemingly every toy he had -- so excited was he to welcome us into his home.  

We asked, “Why did you come to Israel?”  Ariel answered, “So that Alejo could have a better life here than he would have had in Buenos Aires”

One of my companions nodded and affirmed, “So you brought Alejo to be in Israel for a better life?"  “No,” Marianna answered, “Alejo brought us!”

Sometimes we follow the lead of our parents. And sometimes our parents follow our lead.  How have our parents led us?  How are we leading them? Sometimes our legacy is gold pocket-watch and sometimes it is the example we set by following the golden rule. Sometimes our legacy is a treasured book and sometimes it is living by the values treasured in that book.  Often our legacy is determined by what we do more than what we have.  

Thinking back to Ethan, let me offer my own appreciation for how my parents "brainwashed" me.

My parents brainwashed me to be kind, 

To honor tradition and question authority, 

To love my family and respect my friends, 

To learn and learn and learn

And never stop growing or knowing,

Be guided by Torah and teachers

To keep trying and trying and trying

(I think I can, I think I can, I think I can)

And never give up.  

How did your parents brainwash you?

Fairyland, Disneyland, and Lessons in Welcoming Others (Vayeira 5774)

This is a profound season of hospitality and welcome. It is when JCHS sees the greatest number of campus visitors -- from 8th graders and their parents to college representatives. How they feel about JCHS depends in large measure on how we welcome them and encourage them to feel at home in our classes, hallways, and even at our lunch tables. Disneyland used to call itself "the happiest place on earth." Did you know that Walt Disney was inspired by a park just a few miles from JCHS? Oakland’s Children’s Fairyland near Lake Merritt?  Children’s Fairyland is a 10-acre outdoor park that brings fairytales to life through colorful sets, animals, and exhibits.  

On Fairyland's opening day in 1950 more than 6,000 children were welcomed into Old Mother Hubbard's Shoe as a gateway into the park.  Walt Disney was among the early visitors there; he was so impressed with the children's park that he based his theme parks on Fairyland. Disney likely resonated with Fairyland's sense of enthusiastic welcome, respect for its visitors, and capacity to transform strangers into welcome guests. What makes Disneyland such a happy place is the spirit of welcome, inclusion, respect, and generous joy that greets every guest.  As Walt Disney said later, “Do what you do so well that they will want to see it again and bring their friends.” (One might almost imagine Walt launching a word-of-mouth campaign)

In these ways, Fairyland and Disneyland have something in common with this week’s Torah portion, Va’yeira which highlights the power of hospitality, welcoming others and providing for them. Torah pauses to illustrate exemplary aspects of Abraham and Sarah's character -- learning about Abraham and Sarah’s extraordinary hospitality. 

The story opens with 99-year old Abraham sitting at the opening of his tent. Abraham looks up to see three strangers and "runs" to greet them.  (Genesis 18:2) Later verses reveal these strangers are messengers sent by God to tell Abraham and Sarah (90 years old) they will have a son of their own.  

Although Abraham sees them only as strangers, he and Sarah show the trio extraordinary hospitality, warmth, and respect.  They bow in respect.  They promise to bring them just a little food for refreshment and instead bring a huge meal. They prepare the meal themselves even though they could have passed that off to servants.  (Genesis 18:2-8)

Sarah and Abraham do this so enthusiastically. Torah uses a pair of unusual verbs ratz and yimaher -- meaning “run” and “rush” to describe the vigor with which these two folks in their 90s embrace the opportunity to welcome strangers.  

We can learn a number of important lessons about hospitality from this story. From the fact that Abraham rushes out to greet the strangers, we can learn that hospitality involves going out of our way, going beyond our comfort zone to greet others.  As Abraham was sitting by the opening of his tent instead of inside of it, we can learn that authentic welcomes may have to be publicized, not be hidden away.  In other words, it is not enough for us to wait for those in need of our welcome to appear at our doors.  

From the fact that Abraham addresses the strangers with a rare term, 'Adonai” or "my Lord," we can learn that authentic hospitality requires humility about oneself and ultimate respect for the dignity of others (even strangers). From the fact that Sarah and Abraham tell the strangers they will be served a morsel of bread, but return with trays filled with meats and choice cakes, we can learn that hospitality involves saying little but doing much. Our generosity should exceed our words. From the fact that Abraham and Sarah bring together their entire household to support the strangers, we can learn that it is not on one of us alone, but on our entire family or community to welcome others and bring them in.  

At this season of of welcoming guests to JCHS -- and Jewish day schools across the country -- Vayeira encourages us to greet visitors enthusiastically even going out of our way or beyond our comfort zone, to be humble about ourselves and respectful toward and generous with other.  If we know this to be true for our schools, how much the more so does this apply to our homes. Let our generosity exceed our words.  Involve everyone around us in that enthusiastic spirit of welcoming and including, respecting and nourishing.

PS: Rashi (11th century) and others believe that Abraham's energetic hosting occurred on the third day after his circumcision at the age of 99. Wow!

Abraham & Superman: Taking a Piece of Home for the Journey Forward (Lech Lecha 5774)

Superman does not really come from Krypton or even Smallville.  Rather he comes from Cleveland where he was the invention of two Jewish kids, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. They thought him up when they were at Glenville High School.  In those days, more than 75 years ago, Glenville High was more than 70% Jewish; theaters and newspapers were in English and Yiddish. Siegel and Shuster say they based Superman on the first Jewish super-hero ever: Samson. For more on Superman's Jewish roots:   Link to Larry Tye's "10 Reasons Superman is Really Jewish" from June 2013 in The Forward

Biblically speaking, however, it seems Superman is based more on Abraham than on Samson.  The first thing we learn about Superman is that he, just like the biblical Abraham in this week’s Torah portion Lech Lecha, leaves his home on the planet Krypton and journeys to a far away place. Superman’s origins echo those of Abraham:  “God said to Avram lech lecha (go forth) from your land, the place of your birth, and your father’s house, to the land that I will show you, then through you all families of the world will be blessed.” (Genesis 12:1-3.) 

There is an oddity about Superman’s departure from Krypton that echoes an oddity in the departure of Abraham (or Avram as he was called at that point in the narrative) from his homeland. That oddity is the precision with which the departure is described as compared to the broad generalities with which his destination is described.  It is odd there are so many details about the place Abraham is leaving and already knows but the place he is headed is cloaked in mystery.  

In that way, Torah seems to be telling us something more about Abraham as a hero than that he merely left home.  The Kotzker Rebbe (19th century, Poland) re-reads lech lecha to mean “go into yourself” -- discover in yourself your unique gifts, explore your highest potential.  That’s what is required of superhero.  When one does this, then the Torah seems to promise others will be blessed through you. In other words, the gifts we discover inside of ourselves are the ones we bring with us wherever we go.  If we observe them and honor them, these gifts will sustain us throughout the journey no matter the destination.  

Still, why so much dramatic narrative about where he was leaving?  God did not, in the words of my colleague Reuven Bulka, encourage Abraham to stay in his birthplace and grow monotheism there.  Rather he had to try that somewhere else.  From this we learn that Jewish way is not to make a confrontation. Often times the Jewish way forward is to discover a way around conflict, to pursue harmony.

This suggests a deep sensitivity to the needs and feelings of others. Torah is teaching us that a superhero pursues her principles without reservation, but not at the expense of others.  It is teaching us that we cannot always fight against the reality of our current situation in order to subdue it; rather rather we may need to change our location or our perspective in order to move past the limitations and pain of our current situation.  To accomplish that requires the strength of a superman -- or an ordinary human with extraordinary sensitivity and determination.   

Yet leaving one's place of origin does not mean leaving everything behind. Just as Superman leaves Krypton as an infant robed in a blanket that later becomes his famous red cape, Abraham leave his birthplace carrying something valuable too.  Abraham left his birthplace carrying the experience of idol worship (as imagined by rabbinic legend) making him an even stronger advocate for and leader of monotheism.  

For both Superman and Abraham both there is a tension between leaving, which was necessary for each of them to grow, and taking remembrances for the journey, which is necessary for strength.  We carry that tension -- between growth and strength -- on every journey we take.  

One challenge for each of us is to discern that which we can take from our past -- from the places of our birth -- to make us stronger for the days ahead. When we are unable to do, then we risk being held forever in the gravitational bond that is anchoring us -- keeping us chained to -- our past.  Abraham, then Superman, and now us.  Encouraged by the resilience of those who came before us, may we be emboldened to the balance between growth and strength.  

Two of Everything in Life: Resilience and Courage (Noah 5774)

Carved wood, hand-painted Noah's Ark circa 1890

There are two kinds of everything in life.  That theme echoes throughout the Torah portion this week that opens with the story of Noah and the flood.  Not only does Noah gather at least two of every living creature but also he is placed poignantly in the middle of light and darkness, good and evil, life and death.  

The Sages estimate that Noah labored for 120 years from the planting of trees to fashioning the ark, from the collecting what was needed to sustain those on the ark to collecting the animals who survived there. It had to be both difficult and exhilarating.   Surely there were setbacks and frustrations alongside moments of accomplishment and celebration.  

There are two kinds of everything in life.  When we invest in relationships sometimes things go just as we hope but other times the process is difficult or the outcome disappointing.  When we pursue goals sometimes we fulfill them energetically and completely but other times we grow frustrated and want to withdraw.  

The Lakota storyteller, Joseph M Marshall III, writes in “Keep Going: The Art of Perseverance” about a grandfather’s gentle lessons to a grandson enduring difficult times.  Marshall writes, “Grandfather says this, ‘In life there is sadness as well as joy, losing as well as winning, falling as well as standing, hunger as well as plenty, badness as well as goodness. I do not say this to make you despair, but to teach you reality. Life is a journey sometimes walked in light, sometimes in shadow.’”

Marshall’s character continues, “Grandfather says this, ‘Life can give you strength. Strength can come from facing the storms of life, from knowing loss, feeling sadness and heartache, from falling into the depths of grief. You must stand up in the storm. You must face the wind and the cold and the darkness. When the storm blows hard you must stand firm, for it is not trying to knock you down, it is really trying to teach you to be strong.’”

This echoes the framework of “grit” developed by Angela Duckworth it is that type of resilience and courage that leads individuals to imagine their goals are feasible.  She writes, “optimists are grittier than pessimists. . . . Separate research on optimism and growth mindset incontrovertibly demonstrate that the belief that change is possible leads to sustained effort and the belief that change is not [possible] leads to the opposite. Link to Duckworth on Whether Perseverance Can Be Taught

Noah spent 120 years preparing and then 40 days and nights standing up to the storm.  He endured with resilience and courage.  “Resilience and courage” is the Torah’s term for fearing the worst and hoping for the best as in the transition of leadership from Moses to Joshua in Deuteronomy 31:7-8.  These traits are what made it possible for Noah to find hope in hours of darkness, to find strength when probably he was about to give up.  

There are two kinds of everything in life. May we have the wisdom to learn resilience through each other and the strength to courageously thrive in times of triumph and challenge.  

Grit: Recalling the Possibility of a Snowy Sukkot

Ten years ago when living in the Midwest we had an early snow that fell between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur!  Many of us wondered what it would be like to have a snowy Sukkot or to put up a sukkah in the snow.  (Imagine singing “I’m dreaming of a white Sukkos”)

That particular Sukkot comes to mind now after the JCHS (Jewish Community High School of the Bay) professional community and board spent the summer reading Paul Tough's "How Children Succeed."  

Tough refers to research by Angela Duckworth into “grit,” which is the dedication and perseverance in pursuit of a goal with hopeful expectation the goal will be accomplished. When Duckworth was a math teacher, she puzzled over why the most accomplished students in her classes often were not necessarily those with the highest IQs.  To explain this she developed the theory of “grit.”  

Duckworth tested whether “grit” accounted for this with brief  self-assessment. Her “grit” test became so effective she could more accurately predict, for example, which West Point cadets would successfully survive its famed “beast barracks” than all the sophisticated assessments routinely used by West Point. Grit was a better predictor than intelligence, physical ability, or leadership acumen. Paul Tough uses Duckworth and others to describe the positive impact of resilience and developing the capacity to overcome adversity.

Tough and Duckworth are often asked whether “grit” can be taught.  Is it innate and formed at birth? Or can parents, teachers, and others help someone develop “grit”?

Anyone who has ever built a sukkah knows the answer to that question!  Or entered a sukkah in the snow (or rain or bitter cold or sweltering heat).  Yes, “grit” can be taught.  In fact, a fundamental lesson of Judaism is that “grit” -- hopeful perseverance, determination in the face of obstacles -- can be conditioned and learned.

During Sukkot we remove ourselves momentarily from the material security of solid, comfortable structures to temporarily eat (and even sleep) in flimsy huts open to the sky.  For one week we move beyond our comfort zones into unpredictable and challenging places.  

Year after year, after the emotional and spiritual challenges of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we head outside to confront our perseverance and our hopeful determination to overcome obstacles. Through the genius of Sukkot, we teach our children to keep going even when that is tough, to hunker down, and to ride out a storm.  Sukkot conditions us for the year ahead -- a year filled with unpredictable, challenging obstacles and profound moments that will test our hope.  Sukkot is the start-of-the-year crucible that forges “grit.” 

By making ourselves vulnerable during Sukkot, we are urged to appreciate the power of the natural world and to become sensitive to the needs of those who lack adequate shelter, food, or security.  We are urged to count our authentic blessings of strength and security in a fragile, unpredictable world.  

May this Sukkot bring for you and your family wisdom to appreciate all that keeps us safe and strength to grow through that which makes us feel insecure.

The Cages We Keep (Yom Kippur 5774)

In his beautiful Yom Kippur Meditation, “Letters to the Next Generation,” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes, “The single most important lesson of Yom Kippur is that it’s never too late to change, start again, and live differently from the way we’ve done in the past.” (Link to Rabbi Sacks' Reflections)

During this week between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur I experience deeply the passage from on the one hand feeling ourselves imprisoned by our past conduct and on the other hand feeling ourselves soon-to-be liberated by forgiveness.

In this space between being encaged by our fixed and flawed conduct of last year and the boundless opportunities for growth and change in the year just begun, the infamous story of a special tiger named Mohini comes to mind.

Mohini was the rare, white tiger given to President Eisenhower and the children of America as a gift in December 1960. When she was delivered to the National Zoo in Washington she spent most of her days pacing back and forth in a 12 by 12 foot cage. Mohini walked her cage every day around and around in the same pattern.

Her unique and majestic appearance drew lots of new visitors to the zoo. This enabled the zoo to build Mohini a habitat instead of a cage -- much larger, natural and lush giving her space to roam and wander.